


all in the golden afternoon

by chikoo



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - Creatures & Monsters, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Biting, Gothic, Inspired by Alice in Wonderland, M/M, Multi, Oviposition, Riddles, Tentacle Sex, The Mansion in the forest gothic aesthetic, This was called dark alice in my docs lol, this reads like a sexy gothic fantasy/horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-16
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-03-13 17:53:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28782270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chikoo/pseuds/chikoo
Summary: “W-How do you know my name?” The man is so close his tophat almost brushes against San’s hair. His skin this close looks exactly like the roses, porcelain and flawless. He looks unreal and San realises with a jolt, staring into the man’s ruby red eyes, that he truly might be.“You gave it to me. To us. Welcome San, I think we’ve been waiting for you for a very long time. You’re late.”Or,San’s fascination with the infamous mansion in the woods leads to some startling discoveries.
Relationships: ATEEZ Ensemble/Everyone, Choi Jongho/Choi San, Choi San/Everyone, Choi San/Jeong Yunho, Choi San/Kang Yeosang, Choi San/Kim Hongjoong, Choi San/Park Seonghwa, Jung Wooyoung/Song Mingi
Comments: 21
Kudos: 230





	all in the golden afternoon

**Author's Note:**

> HI HI HI   
> i pulled an all nighter for this and why??? idk i just couldn’t rest till i wrote it sigh so here’s a gothic au inspired by Alice in wonderland lol.   
> ADDITIONAL WARNINGS:  
> I want to say that this whole thing can be mildly, mildly read as dub con because San technically thinks he’s dreaming and indulges in sexual activities because of that so I want to make that clear in case that makes anyone uncomfortable.  
> If there’s something else I haven’t tagged or have tagged incorrectly please let me know.   
> Enjoy!

Tucked away behind the woodlands that sprout up near the creek, deeper into the wild, is an old, silent mansion. 

No one knows when it was built or  _ who  _ built it. It’s almost as if it sprung up from the ground at some suspended hour of night, with fully formed towers and sprawling gardens, lying in wait. 

For what or who nobody seems to know because no one has ever seen the owners or any semblance of life puttering behind the arched, gilded windows. 

And yet, the towering hedge maze in the garden is always trimmed and neat; the driveway is cleared of falling leaves and mud; chimneys sputtering out soot and ash every once in a while as if someone was stoking them from inside the house. 

Terror House, as the locals affectionately call it, is a little bit of a ghost story that’s whispered on cold, drunken nights when the tavern is full and the streets are empty. The kind of story that entices young children into running up and touching the rusty gates in jest, as some kind of coming of age ritual that proves your worth. 

The kind of story that has kept San enraptured all his life, staring, from the back window of his grandmother’s house, at the spiralling turrets of Terror House, peeking out from between the trees, calling to him like a beacon. 

Which is precisely why San stands in front of it’s ornate, wrought iron gates, hands fisted by his side, eyes fixed on the shadowy silhouette of the mansion in the distance. 

“Okay, now you touch the gate and hooray! You bested the dark forces residing here!” Yeonjun announces, too loud in the quiet of the afternoon. He’s leaning into San’s shoulder, already drunk off the whiskey they’d swiped from their mother’s cabinet. She’s taken to keeping a bottle close to hand ever since her two sons received their acceptance letters. San isn’t sure if she really drinks from it, but he knows she likes the theatrics, enjoys holding a bottle in her hand and dabbing daintily at her eyes, muttering about her only children leaving her to go off on their own. 

The whiskey has come in handy after all, San thinks, skin furiously warm in the chill of the setting afternoon, staring at the intricate carving of a large rose in the middle of the gate, held together by prickling thorns that wrap themselves around the fencing. 

It’s their last day here in Tulgey, their last day before they go off to a larger than life university in the city and their childhood, their old lives in this tiny, woodland town become a distant memory. It had taken some wheedling and a lot of drinking to convince Yeonjun to come with him to the house and do the one thing San has always wanted to do ever since he was a wide-eyed, curious child, seated on his grandmother’s lap on the balcony, listening to tales of adventure, magic and  _ horror.  _

San glances at Yeonjun and then back at the gates. “I want to go in.” It comes out in a burst and San doesn’t need to look to know that Yeonjun’s face is blanched. 

“What? Are you out of your mind? I know you enjoy adventure, dear brother, but this really isn’t wise,” Yeonjun mutters furiously, hands fisting into San’s collar. 

“Why? There’s nothing so terrible about it, it isn’t like it’s dangerous,” San argues. “Besides I’ve always wanted to go in and see. I used to think that little dwarves took care of the hedges.” 

“Dwarves,” Yeonjun says, voice flat. “You’re not a child anymore, San. You’re too old for this nonsense. In any case, the gates look rusted shut, no one’s been able to get in for decades. Now come, it must be past 4 already, we need to get back before dinner-“ 

“You go on ahead. I’ll catch up,” San says, fixing his brother with his most sincere expression. Yeonjun sighs wearily and San lets his lower lip wobble. “I promise I’ll only be a minute! I just want to see the house up close and then I’ll come back!” 

Yeonjun sighs, flattening his hair on his forehead. His tweed waistcoat is soaked with perspiration from walking all the way from their home and through the woods. San’s own ruffled shirt sticks to his skin but he barely feels the discomfort. Over their heads, the silver fir trees whisper and sway in the wind, the smell of musty leaves and rich soil soaking the air. San shivers a little when the wind picks up and flutters around him, chilling the back of his neck. 

“You can try your best, but I doubt you’d be able to get in,” Yeonjun says finally, gazing at the mansion and flinching violently. “This place is terrifying, I don’t know what could possess you to go in there.” 

San shrugs. “I think it’s charming.” Beautiful. And it is. It’s the most beautiful house here because San knows it’s  _ meant  _ to be here. It feels like it just belongs here, in the woods, hidden like treasure amongst the trees. San wants to know if it’s just as delightful on the inside as it is on the outside, he just wants a  _ peek.  _

“Sure,” Yeonjun says dubiously then pats his back, walking backwards quickly. “See you when you’re tired of trying to heave these god awful gates open, brother. Don’t go wandering off! ”

“I won’t,” San protests softly, even though Yeonjun’s quick footsteps sound far away, suffocated in the eerie silence of the woods. San takes a deep breath in and rests a hand on the gate. It’s warm under his touch and dusty, so very dusty, he swipes away a layer of black from the fencing with his finger. 

He fiddles with the latch, trying to tug it open but to no avail. Yeonjun’s right, it is rusted shut and San’s heart sinks for a moment when suddenly, the latch gives way under his fingers and with a great, resounding creak, the gates swing open slowly, like a big, lumbering beast yawning for the first time in a hundred years. 

San blinks rapidly. Strange. Perhaps, people in his village had just been too timid and polite to try and open the gates. Which doesn’t say much for San’s manners but there’s something about being the first person to enter a place that everyone’s so afraid of. His heartbeat thrums and a small smile pulls at his lips.

He takes a few tentative steps in, gravel crunching underfoot. There had been a thin inch of fog all over the woods but here it’s denser, thicker, curling around San like a mould, pulling him in. He can barely see what’s in front of him, can just about make out the towers of the mansion some hundred feet away.

A sudden, screeching sound echoes and he yelps, whirling around to see the gates swinging inwards, snapping shut firmly. 

He walks faster, heart thudding. Maybe he should have listened to his brother but he’s already inside now and he’s going to see what he can and leave as soon as possible. 

It seems as if he walks for forever, the outline of the mansion at the same place in the distance, no closer and no farther. The bones of his fingers are beginning to grow numb in the chill of the fog that hugs him so tenderly, too tenderly and he holds his elbows close together, sniffing a little in frustration. When it feels like he’s walked for almost five minutes he comes to an abrupt stop and looks around. Everything is covered by the fog, like a blanket of translucent snow keeping everything hidden. He huffs and in a fit of irritation, stomps his foot down hard. 

Suddenly it’s as if the sun finally comes out from under a browbeaten cloud and the fog clears in front of him, revealing an arching arbour that leads to an expanse of green, dewy leaves and neatly cut hedges. The infamous hedge maze they can see all the way from the church bell towers. He must have walked so far he bypassed the entrance to the house and came straight here. 

The arbour is weighed down by creeping, crumbling vines, prickling with thorns and colourful wildflowers. The scent of freshly mown grass and dewdrops entices him and San doesn’t wait a moment longer, stepping through and into the maze. 

The hedges are tall, taller than him even and all San can see on his sides and straight in front, are neat, curlicues of green leaves as the hedged path goes onwards and inwards. He walks down, and when it comes to a dead end a few feet away and opens into a new path to his right, San follows it with glee, fingers grazing stray leaves and beautiful blue forget-me-nots peeking from the hedges, enjoying the crunch of twigs and bracken under his shoes. 

Abruptly, the path divulges into two and San stops. He looks to his right, where it seems as if the maze goes on forever, disappearing into a swirling, twirling mist. Then to his left, where it looks remarkably identical. He bites his lips, brows furrowing, trying to make a decision. Suddenly, he notices the small wooden boards tucked away into the hedge. The one to his right, points outwards, labelled “ _ Stang _ ”. The one on his left says “ _ Orgal _ ”. 

He makes a face, spins on his heel, and begins walking down the left hand path. 

The mist touches his skin around halfway through, not as thick as the fog was but chillier somehow, almost piercing in the way it grazes against him, and he trembles, his thin shirt and trousers suddenly not sufficient enough to stave off the cold. He should have at least remembered to bring a damn jacket but he’s always been awfully forgetful about practical things. 

Hugging himself, he walks on until the path opens to the right and he turns with it and then staggers, squinting his eyes in disbelief. 

Instead of more of the monotonous hedge, the path has opened into a junction of sorts, housing a small,  _ glorious _ rose garden. 

The maze here opens out into four paths, the garden right in the centre of the circular shape the hedges assume. Bushels of snow-white roses sprout up from the soil, shimmering with dew, some of them tucked into the edges of the hedge and some neatly placed in small rectangular rows, bulbous and beautiful. San steps forward, halting, staring at the flowers in awe. There are so many and they’re so  _ large,  _ almost as big as San’s palm, so starkly white they glow like luminescent light. He walks up to one and takes in the soft, dainty way the petals curl inwards, one on top of the other, framed by spiky thorns and wide leaves. They look like they’re made of porcelain and in the stillness of the air, where not even the leaves move, San’s afraid to touch one lest it breaks. 

But curiosity gets the better of him and he stumbles closer, till he’s face level with a large, blooming flower, staring into the tiny, cradled bud at its centre, his hand reaching out and out until it’s cupping the petals. They’re soft as silk and he sighs lightly, rubbing the outer petals between his fingers, a heady, airy sensation filling his head. He has the sudden wish to be small, small enough that he can fit inside this flower and curl up and sleep, cocooned and protected. 

“You can be, if you want to.” 

San spins around, a yell caught in his throat. There’s a sudden spike of pain in his finger but he hardly notices it, staring at the person standing an arm’s length away from him. They’re- strange. Almost as statuesque as this garden, wearing a white waistcoat and white trousers. They have on an equally white tophat laced with cream ribbons. They’re holding a pocket watch in their hands that makes the loudest ticking sound San has ever heard. He wonders how he could have possibly missed it and not heard them approaching. 

They tilt their head, curling blond hair peeking out from under their hat and blink at San. 

“Oh dear,” they say dully and their gaze shifts downwards. 

“Huh?” San frowns, lips parting in confusion until he registers the dull throbbing in his finger and looks down at it. There’s a tiny wound at the tip of his finger, oozing a pearl of blood. He must have pricked it on the flower, he thinks absently, bringing it up to his mouth to suckle on it. He glances at the flower behind him and starts. The petals have turned a deep, swirling rouge, sticking out sorely in the sea of white. 

“What?” San frowns at the flower, reaching out to touch it again as if he expects the red to smudge off on his fingers. When it doesn’t, he can’t quell the rising thud of his heartbeat, loud even to his own ears, synchronous with the stranger’s watch. 

He turns again and finds the strange person giving him a blank, empty stare. 

“What… Are you the owner? I’m sorry, I just wanted to see, I was just curious,” he stammers out, cradling his finger to his chest. 

They tilt their head again. “I am not. I’m just the- butler, of sorts. The man who helps keep this garden up to shape. The owner won’t be pleased you’re here tainting his garden though,” the butler says, raising an eyebrow and San flushes. 

“I-I’m really sorry but- really I think the red looks better,” he says quietly, gesturing to the flower, biting the inside of his cheek. When the man doesn’t smile or move a single muscle, he deflates, wringing his hands together anxiously. The air around them feels taut, like it’s settled between him and this strange man, waiting. 

“Um, I should go then. It’s getting late-” 

“But you can’t leave  _ now _ . You’ve barely seen anything yet. Aren’t you curious San?” 

The man steps closer and San watches him as if underwater, a sleek, silent figure wading through the mist and towards him. His skin feels tight, pulled together so thin in the cold. 

“W-How do you know my name?” The man is so close his tophat almost brushes against San’s hair. His skin this close looks exactly like the roses, porcelain and flawless. He looks unreal and San realises with a jolt, staring into the man’s ruby red eyes, that he truly might be. 

“You gave it to me. To us. Welcome San, I think we’ve been waiting for you for a very long time. You’re late.” 

For a moment, fear grips him so hard, San almost chokes out loud with it. And then, staring at the man’s red eyes and cherubic lips, San comes to a reassuring realisation. 

“Oh,” he whispers, reaching out with a finger to touch the man’s skin. It’s soft to the touch, like the petals, smooth and silky. “I’m dreaming! Oh, I must have fallen asleep, I always sleep when I drink too much, I must have wandered in and taken a nap somewhere. What a curious dream!” 

The man’s lips quirk up but he doesn’t move even when San brushes his fingers over his mouth. His mouth is warm and it startles San a little because he’d almost expected it to be cold. 

“Are you? Do you think this is a dream?” 

San nods surely. “It has to be. Only in my imagination could I have dreamt up a place like this,” he says, gesturing with an arm. “And someone like you.” 

The man smiles again and takes hold of San’s palm gently between his glove-clad hands. He lifts San’s finger to his face and looks at the tiny cut on it and then before San can say anything, he takes his finger into his mouth and suckles on it. 

It feels odd and San yelps at the warm, moist sensation of the man’s tongue curling around his finger. It makes something strange curl within his stomach. 

“W-” is all he manages until the man finally pulls his finger out and lets it go. San inspects it and gasps when he sees clean, clear skin. 

“All healed,” the man tells him, stepping back a little. “Consider it a favour.” 

“I- thank you,” San murmurs, frowning at his finger. But of course, this is a dream. All sorts of things happen in dreams. All sorts of strange, horrific, wonderful things. 

His gaze flicks up to the man who’s still standing there motionless, still as a statue. He looks back at San with eyes so intense and playful it makes San squirm in place, feet anchored to the ground. 

“I-You said there was more to see? Can you show me?” 

“I can tell you where to go but I’m afraid I have somewhere to be. I’m very late,” the man mutters, tapping at his pocket watch harshly. The thing tickers away, little hands moving quicker than they should. 

“But it’ll cost you another favour.” Oh. San blinks rapidly. 

“What do- how can I repay you? I-I have no money, nothing with me-”

“Money? I haven’t the faintest idea what that could be. Just a kiss will suffice. A long, sweet kiss,” the man murmurs, voice lilting and low, gracefully tugging his tophat off and revealing smooth, lupine ears settled in his hair. They’re just as pearly white as the rest of him, pink in the centre and they make him look softer, despite his sharpness, despite the piercing carmine eyes. 

He’s  _ pretty _ , San thinks in awe. He’d noticed already, of course, but now that the man’s requested a kiss, he’s suddenly prettier, like no other man he’s seen before. It wouldn’t be a travesty to kiss him. 

“It’s  _ my  _ dream, after all,” San whispers under his breath and steps closer to the man, eyes locked on the curve of his lips. For a moment, nothing happens and San falters. He’s never really kissed anyone before so he’s not sure how to go about this. Should he put his arms around the man? Should he pucker his lips? Should he-

There’s warmth against his mouth and a hard chest pressing into his, hands tangled in his unruly hair.  _ Oh.  _ Melting into the warmth, allowing his lips to part a little so that the man can lick carefully into his mouth, San thinks,  _ this is what it feels like to kiss.  _ An arm slides up his back, settling around his waist and squeezing tight, pulling him closer till his front is entirely touching the man’s firm body. A knee pushes between his legs and San moans when it brushes up against his crotch, his stomach swooping with a sudden, searing heat. 

“Mm!” The knee deliberately rubs up against his crotch, right against the outline of his erection and San all but melts into the man’s arms, panting into his mouth, jerking a little when the man’s tongue swipes against his, sucking on it with purpose. 

Then as sudden as it happened, all the heat moves away from San as the man pulls off, stepping back neatly. San tries to stand on his own two feet and not fall down like a newly born faun. The man doesn’t even look as affected as San feels, daintily wiping at his mouth, one of his long, velveteen ears flopped over endearingly. 

“Thank you. That was more than sufficient,” the man says easily, licking his lips, smirking. Then he lifts his head and gestures to the path behind San. “Go down that one if you want to see more.” 

San fumbles a little, suddenly out of place in his own body. “Um, won’t you come with me? I don’t want to be alone.” 

“I apologise, I really do, but like I said, I’m late. You’ll be fine. I’ll make sure my friend finds you on your way.” 

Petulance gathers within him and San’s about to make a demand that his dream should do what  _ he  _ wants. But the man seems to read San’s mind and he smiles, palms settling on his shoulder comfortingly. 

“It’s alright, San. You’ll enjoy yourself, I promise. Now run along.” 

San allows himself to be turned around, stumbling forward towards the path when he remembers and spins back around. 

“Wait! What’s your name?” 

The man taps slowly at his pocket watch and regards San. Absently, San notices that a wave of crimson has overcome the roses, even more of them turning red as if the colour’s being painted on by some invisible figure. He walks backward, a little daunted by the sudden, wide-toothed smile the man gives him, growing wider and wider as all the roses bleed red one by one, till none are left pure and white. 

“Yeosang, little one. My name is Yeosang.” 

  
  


* * *

  
  


This path is different from the rest. 

For one, there’s cobbled stone under his feet and his shoes make a satisfying, clicking sound as he walks. For another, there are flowers. Many,  _ many  _ flowers. 

They bloom everywhere, hues of yellow, purple, pink, in the leaves of the hedges, curling and winding their way in between the cobbled stone ground, reaching upwards to form arched bridges connecting both sides of the path, flower petals floating in the air like snowflakes. A shell-pink blushed petal settles on San’s cheek and he giggles, brushing it off gently. 

He feels giddy with glee, wants to turn and twirl and dance around because what a wonderful dream! And so he does; he spins and jumps up in the air, petals cascading around him in a flourish, picks up a flower lying on the ground and threads it into his hair, a big, gleaming smile on his face. 

Halfway down the path, San spots something. It’s a little table, right in the middle, almost a tiny stool really, and on it are two things that he can’t see very well. He jogs closer and bends down, kneeling on the ground in front of the stool. There’s a piece of cake sitting on a napkin and next to it, a flask filled with some yellowish liquid. 

_ Eat me!  _ It says on the cake. San squints at it. It looks delicious from appearance alone, swirling pink and white icing glazed over it. On the drink, there’s a little tag around the neck of the bottle that says  _ Drink me!  _ Well. San might as well indulge himself. 

He picks up the cake and takes a big bite. 

A sudden, cramping pain takes hold in his abdomen and he doubles over. His skin is  _ blazing _ , the phantom sensation of water rushing into his ears. Dizzy and more than a little queasy, he doesn’t realise it until he touches his belly but- his clothes are torn. He looks down and takes in the way they hang on him in tatters and frowns. 

And then notices how far away the ground is from up here. 

From up here? San blinks, eyes darting around, gasping when he realises he’s somehow grown taller than the hedges, looming over them. Or the hedges have shrunk. Either way, it makes a surge of nausea rise up in him and he frowns, settling down onto his haunches slowly. He picks up the remaining cake between his thumb and forefinger. It’s no more than a piece of thimble in his large hand now. 

“Oh no,” he murmurs. How does he set things right? 

“Oh no indeed,” a voice repeats loudly and San’s head whips up. In front of him is… a face. A disembodied face smiling brightly. San screams and falls back onto his bottom with a thud. The face sniffs and then smiles wider. 

“You’re so very dramatic, Sannie. I expected this though. You look adorable with that flower in your hair, sweetheart.” The face disappears for a moment and San inhales sharply.

“You-who are you?” He calls out wildly and the face reappears on his right side, blinking up at him with a pout. 

“Who am I? Whoever you want me to be, sweetcheeks,” the face says with a sharp giggle and then disappears again. 

San fists his palm and hits the ground. “Stop doing that!” 

The face appears in front of him again, raising an eyebrow. And then it sighs and suddenly, there’s a naked figure floating in the air in front of him. A figure with a curling, stubby tail and pointed ears nestled within shaggy hair. San’s cheek flush when he sees the flaccid penis between the figure’s thighs. 

“I’m Wooyoung. Yeosang asked me to find you.  _ Make sure he doesn’t get into any trouble, Wooyoungie,  _ he said and here you are,” Wooyoung snorts derisively. “Getting into trouble. Your kind really likes that though don’t they?” 

“My kind? What are you then? The ghost of a man?”

“Well, I am a man,” Wooyoung says and twirls in the air like a dancer. “But I’m many more things. I can be a ghost as well. I can be whatever you like,” he smirks and glides through the air, settling on his side, holding his head in his hands as if he’s laying down. His physique is impressive and San has that same feeling he’d felt with Yeosang. That same fluttering in his belly as he stares at Wooyoung’s muscled thighs. 

“Can you help me?” Wooyoung raises an eyebrow and then points to the, now small, bottle on the ground. 

“Drink a little bit of that.” San doesn’t waste a moment, reaching out for the tiny thing, unscrewing the top and taking a few tiny sips. The effect is immediate; Wooyoung’s figure becomes higher and higher up in the air until San’s sitting on the ground in torn clothes, the bottle finally the right size in his hand. 

“Oh my, look at your clothes. You might as well take them off now,” Wooyoung chirps up, floating down to sit cross-legged in front of San casually, as if his penis isn’t flopping around oddly. San blushes and looks away but Wooyoung is right. He can’t walk around in these clothes. But he can’t walk around  _ naked  _ either, that's far too improper. 

“I-I can’t. I don’t want to,” he says quietly, picking at the wide-stretched collar of his shirt. In front of him Wooyoung sighs and disappears. And then reappears again holding a large cloth in his hands. 

“Here,” he says, holding it out. It looks almost like a  _ tablecloth.  _ “Remove your clothes and wrap this around yourself. Human beings really do fuss about far too much.” 

“Oh, t-thank you!” San stands up and pulls his clothes off carefully, fully aware of the lecherous gaze Wooyoung gives him. He doesn't really mind though. And maybe it’s the intoxicating feeling of a dream but something about it makes him feel all warm inside. With Wooyoung’s help, he wraps the tablecloth around his waist like a towel, hugging at his arms in the mild chill. It’s not as cold as it was in the rose garden but it’s still chilly. San suspects it’s  _ always  _ chilly here. It doesn’t seem to affect Wooyoung who’s standing upright finally and on the ground, hands on his hips, beaming at San. 

“Cute. Now come on, we’re late!” He wraps an arm around San’s waist and pulls him along, holding him up when San stumbles. 

“What? What are we late for? Why is everyone so late?” 

Wooyoung scoffs and pinches San’s bottom, ignoring the mewl he lets out. “You must meet Seonghwa of course. Only then can you meet my master.” 

“Seonghwa? Your master?” 

“You’ll see,” is all Wooyoung says and tugs him along. 

  
  


* * *

  
  


Wooyoung weaves through the maze with ease, chattering cheerily about things San can’t quite understand, and before he knows it, they’re standing in front of a large, glass encased building. 

It’s a greenhouse, like the kind San’s seen at the houses of lords and barons, the kind that has dark metallic casing and intricate designs and a large, domed ceiling to let the sunlight in. Though it’s closer to dusk now and the glass looks dark in the light, shadowy and secretive. San can’t see what’s inside. 

“Come, don’t be scared,” Wooyoung says gently, cradling the back of his neck. San swallows and lets Wooyoung guide him inside, pushing open the large ornate doors with a whoosh. 

A flood of noise reaches them. Loud voices, cackling laughter and the incessant tinkling of china. San looks around in awe because he’s never seen a greenhouse quite like  _ this.  _

It seems almost larger on the inside than it was on the outside. The foliage of green plants, vibrant flowers and small, fruit-laden trees is so vast, it almost completely encompasses the entire space, from the ground up to the ceiling, a small, wooden path leading inwards, towards the centre. 

As they walk down the path, San realises that the plants are  _ moving _ , writhing and lifting and shifting, vines sprouting along the glass and curling upwards, leaves fluttering as if dancing in the wind, strangely shaped, cylindrical flowers blooming and shutting close. The whole place feels alive in a way San has never witnessed, and he gasps softly when a tiny tendril of a vine curls around his wrist curiously. Wooyoung whacks it away and pushes San in front. 

“None of that. If they take you no one will ever find you again,” he says grimly and San blanches. Suddenly, the stirring greenery doesn’t seem as fascinating, he thinks, peeking behind his shoulder and shuddering when he sees the large flowers turn his way and follow him, vines crawling along the ground slowly, menacing. 

The foliage suddenly melts away into open space, soft warm light filling the space from long, tapering lamps on the side. In the centre is a large table and behind it, a little shed. The table is rectangular and quite simple-looking but it isn’t the table that fascinates San. It’s the people seated on the table that make him bite his lip. 

Two of them are arguing loudly, pointing at each other and standing up, throwing food and tea cups around while the third sits at the head of the table and watches quietly, smiling. They’re all wearing similar suits, smart and handsome, with the exception of the quiet one, who has on a long coat with a high collar and a night-black vest, cinched tight with beautiful silver embroidery stitched into the sides. There’s a large, slightly skewed tophat on their head which they tip when they turn their head and catch sight of San. 

They’re stunning in the way San’s coming to realise everyone in this strange dream is; a charming hooked nose, sharp chin and cushiony lips that are set in a small, barely there smirk. 

“Wooyoung, I see you brought him in one piece,” they say and even their voice is beautiful, dulcet and melodic. San shivers a little and Wooyoung tightens his grip around San’s waist. 

“I did. Sannie, this is Seonghwa, all of this is his doing,” Wooyoung says, gesturing vaguely around the greenhouse and then leaves San’s side, jogging up to Seonghwa and sitting on his lap. San gapes, standing a few feet away from the table awkwardly, as Wooyoung flings his arms around Seonghwa’s neck and kisses him, open-mouthed and filthy, moaning loudly. They’re a sight; Wooyoung still completely naked and Seonghwa, fully dressed, grabbing and squeezing at Wooyoung’s thighs shamelessly.

San doesn’t realise that the noise has died down a little and he turns his head, starting when he finds the two other people seated lazily, regarding San with curiosity and something dark in their eyes. 

The taller, fair-haired one smiles at him, a little two wide, and San realises they have similar lupine ears in their hair to Yeosang. But their’s are a silky, golden brown as opposed to Yeosang’s snow white ears. The shorter, stockier one has a pair of round black ears nestled in his hair and San immediately squints at Seonghwa’s hair to see if there are any strange ears or tails on him. 

Seonghwa catches him looking and pulls away from Wooyoung. 

“Sannie, welcome. We’ve been waiting for you. Sit down, won’t you?” He points to the chair next to the mouse-eared person, and San hesitates a little, eyes still fixed on Wooyoung’s freckled back and Seonghwa’s large palm settled onto it possessively. Seonghwa raises an eyebrow at him which makes San’s cheeks redden. He sits down quickly and yelps when a large plate of cookies is put down right in front of him. 

“Have some! Mingi baked them himself,” the mouse-eared one says loudly, pointing at Mingi on the other side of the table who grins salaciously again and nods. They look at him expectantly and San realises they’re waiting for him to actually try them so he lifts one and takes a tiny bite, pleasantly surprised by how good it tastes. 

“Is good,” he murmurs, chewing slowly and Mingi cheers. 

“Thank you very much! I used the best leech juice I could find for it, ground down the leeches myself,” he announces proudly and San stares at the unassuming cookie and tries not to retch. 

“Tch, stop weirding the human out, you dingbats.” Wooyoung disappears from Seonghwa’s lap with a poof and then reappears on Mingi’s who makes a pleased noise, immediately leaning back in his chair and kissing him voraciously. 

San’s cheeks haven’t stopped feeling like they’re on fire and he averts his gaze from them when Wooyoung moans loudly, preoccupying himself with studying the tablecloth. Which looks an awful lot like the tablecloth wrapped around his waist. 

“Hmm, I do apologise if all this seems strange San. I’m sure it’s very different in your world,” Seonghwa murmurs, urging San to look at him. San watches him take a dainty sip out of a tiny teacup and hums. 

“Well, that only means that my imagination’s just as strange.” 

Wooyoung scoffs, pulling away from Mingi and wiping his face with a grin. “He thinks this is a dream,” he says in a mocking tone. The mouse-eared one snorts loudly and even Seonghwa smiles and San feels very much like the butt of an ill-founded joke. 

“Really? And why do you think this is a dream?” 

San bristles. “Well of course it’s a dream. Only in a dream would I think up strange creatures like you, animal-like and half-naked and- and-” 

“Promiscuous? Sexual? My, your imagination must be incredibly  _ filthy  _ then San. Do you want to make it filthier?” San stares at Seonghwa, eyes wide. Seonghwa gazes back at him cooly, smiling. On their side, Mingi groans and a resounding smack echoes in the air and San blushes furiously. 

“I- that’s not-” He’s not entirely sure what to say. He’s never seen anyone this  _ open  _ with each other back home. He’d never even kissed anyone before Yeosang. But he can’t deny that he’d dreamt about it many times before. Dreamt about the boy in the bakery, about the girl who lived down the road, about so many people, too many to count. He’d dreamt about touching and being touched and although he’d never say it out loud, he can’t deny that he wishes fervently to be either in Mingi or Wooyoung’s position. 

He doesn’t know what to say and he stutters, blinking rapidly. Seonghwa must take pity on him because he sighs. 

“Well, what is a dream really, hmm?  _ Often will I spin a tale, never will I charge a fee. I'll entertain you an entire eve, but alas, you won't remember me. What am I? _ ” San stares at him blankly and Seonghwa beams. 

“A dream, my friend. That’s all a dream is. If you want to make yours a little more interesting, shall we play a game?” 

“Ugh,” the mouse eared one murmurs next to him. “Not this again!” 

“Hush, Jongho. Don’t mind him San, he’s just easily bored.”

“Yes, because it’s  _ boring. _ ”

San chews the inside of his cheek, glancing between them and their familiar banter. He wonders how they all know each other, how they’re all so _familiar_ with each other. He wonders how he could have possibly made this up. 

He peeks at Mingi and Wooyoung, who are still entangled up in each other, Mingi’s hands somewhere underneath the table, Wooyoung’s hips moving frantically and he bites his lip, tearing his eyes away, tamping down the urge to pat his cheeks down. He suddenly realises his top half’s still completely bare. He hugs his shoulders, shy and a little embarrassed. 

“Come San, let’s play a game. I’ll gift you something if you win. Whatever you want,” Seonghwa beguiles, tapping his fingers against the table. “You’re a smart boy aren’t you Sannie? I know you’ll do well.” 

The praise has an instantaneous effect on him. He breathes heavily and rubs at his arms. Next to him, Jongho leans over and sets down a small cup in front of him, the unknown golden liquid in it steaming. 

“It’ll help,” Jongho says, reaching out to tuck San’s hair back behind his ear. “It’ll help you relax a little, and enjoy this horrid game, it really is so terribly boring.” When San glances at the cup dubiously, Jongho laughs. 

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. Nothing’s going to happen to you here that you don’t already want, hmm? It’s your dream isn’t it? We know you inside out,” he whispers, caressing the jut of San’s shoulder, letting his fingers trail down San’s arm and slip away. San lifts the cup with shaking hands, taking a small sip, eyes widening when a rich, delicious, almost praline taste bursts on his tongue. 

Then he turns to Seonghwa, his tongue silky with sweetness, and nods. Seonghwa brightens up, tips his hat and all of a sudden, it’s as if the lights grow dimmer, and Seonghwa’s eyes grow darker, glimmering like gemstones, his smile sharper than it was a moment ago. 

“Answer this:  _ I speak without a mouth and hear without ears. I have no body, but I come alive with wind. What am I? _ ” 

A sudden squealing noise echoes in the air and San turns and watches Mingi turn Wooyoung around till he’s leaning over the table, Mingi’s fingers fucking into his ass ruthlessly. Wooyoung gags on nothing, a silly smile on his face, looking up at San and winking. 

“E-echo. It’s an echo,” San whispers, fingers clenched into his arm. Besides him, Jongho groans something under his breath and shifts restlessly, the warmth of his body suddenly heady and heavy. 

Seonghwa smiles indulgently. San swears his teeth peek out of his mouth like fangs. 

“Good boy. Very well done. Here’s another:  _ What disappears as soon as you say its name? _ ”

“Fuck,” Jongho mutters and springs up, leaning across the table and stuffing a piece of cake into Wooyoung’s open, loud mouth, stifling his noises. Wooyoung makes a delighted noise and looks up at Jongho tearily, eyes squeezing shut when Mingi stands up behind him, pants open, and with no preamble, pushes his cock into him. 

Jongho sits back down and palms his own erection, throwing his head back. 

“Silence.” 

San resists the urge to press his hand down onto his own throbbing cock. He pants a little, as if in tandem with Mingi who’s thrusting into Wooyoung like a piston, uncaring of the way Wooyoung’s upper body is slipping up and down the table, a filthy, slapping sound repeating with every thrust. 

“Well done again!” Seonghwa stands up and walks over to stand behind San. San’s whole body thrums, his heart pounding so hard he’s afraid it might fall out, skin buzzing with heat. He wonders how one can  _ feel  _ so much in a dream. Seonghwa settles his gloved palms onto San’s naked shoulders and San can’t stifle the full-bodied shudder that goes through him. 

“Now for the last one,” Seonghwa says quietly. His palm comes up to cup San’s chin, lifting his head up and towards Mingi and Wooyoung, forcing him to watch. Mingi’s put one of Wooyoung’s legs up on the table, sideways, in a half split almost and it looks  _ obscene _ , the way there are tears streaming down Wooyoung’s face, his pointed ears pressed flat to his hair, the way Mingi’s shirt is dark with sweat. 

“ _ Why is a raven like a writing desk? _ ” 

It’s like time stands still. San’s vaguely aware that all four of them are staring at him, anticipating his answer, but San’s body feels suspended in some viscous liquid that looks a lot like the golden liquid in his cup that’s lying half-finished. His skin burns where Seonghwa’s touching and he’s never wanted,  _ needed  _ someone to touch him more, something ravenous clawing out from inside him. 

“I-I-” The words dissolve in his throat and the only thing he can do is arch his back, try and move Seonghwa’s hands down to his chest, to his tender nipples. Seonghwa chuckles and slowly, so slowly, slides his hands down, cupping San’s chest like he’s cupping a woman’s breasts. He squeezes and San moans. 

“Come on, sweet boy. You need to answer me,” he admonishes and San shakes. He squeezes his chest again, filthier this time, bunching up the muscle together and groping, fingers brushing against his nipples tantalisingly. San moans again, suddenly far too close to tears. 

“I-I don’t know, I’m sorry, I don’t know,” he mutters and Seonghwa hums. His thumbs rub San’s nipples, pressing down the slightest bit till San’s mewling just like Wooyoung, pushing his chest up into the touch. And then, all of a sudden, the touch is gone as Seonghwa steps back. 

“That’s the wrong answer, sweetheart.” 

San gasps, horrified. He whirls around, gaping at Seonghwa, ready to do  _ anything  _ to get Seonghwa’s hands on him again. 

“What? Se- please, I just want- please.” He can’t quite say it but Seonghwa looks so deliciously patronising when he smiles that it fills San up with a strange, desperate kind of warmth. 

“Since you lost, you can’t have what you want. But since  _ I  _ won, I’d like to claim my prize.” 

Suddenly there are hands lifting San up and placing him onto a cleared space on the table. Jongho sets him down carefully and presses a soft, tender kiss to San’s chest. When San sniffs, blinking up at him, he grins, bends down and takes San’s nipple in his mouth, suckling at it. San arches violently, mouth open in a soundless scream, hands scrabbling up to grab hold of Jongho’s hair, fingers fumbling around the soft fur of Jongho’s ears. 

Jongho gives his other nipple the same attention, tugging at it with his teeth, holding San down when he writhes and then soon, too soon, he pulls away. San watches him go to the opposite end of the table, to where Mingi’s slumped over Wooyoung like a deadweight. Jongho lifts Mingi up gently and places him on a chair, kissing him. Then he unclasps his own trousers and slides into Wooyoung’s prone body, fucking into him like he’s  _ using  _ him. Wooyoung mewls and writhes and laughs like he loves this so much he’s going insane. San doesn’t know if he wants to be fucked like that or fuck Wooyoung like that and make him drool all over himself with pleasure.

“If you ask nicely you can.” Seonghwa’s standing between his legs, gazing down at him with mirth. He removed his hat carefully, placing it down and running his fingers through dark hair. He places his hands on San’s bare calves and spreads them a little further apart. 

“But first, let me take what I want, hmm?” 

And San swallows, parting his legs easily, sighing when Seonghwa’s hands wander and thinking, fuck this is the  _ greatest _ dream. 

Seonghwa wastes no time slicking up his fingers with something goopy and plunging them into San’s hole, laughing when San screams so loudly his body shakes with it. He’s quivering, legs shutting automatically because it’s- it’s so much, it feels like it’s too much but if Seonghwa removes his fingers San might cry and he pants when Seonghwa wrenches his legs open, holds him down and fucks his fingers into him so hard San’s eyes roll back in his head. 

His body feels wet and searing hot, his mind clouded, nothing but the heady, swirling pleasure, the scent of green and sugar and sweat in the air, his mind upside down in some lucid sensation.

He only vaguely registers it when Seonghwa slips his cock into him, the stretch making his eyes water. His breath comes out in short bursts when Seonghwa starts fucking into him properly, furious and harsh, his back grazing against the tablecloth, the spike of pain delicious. 

“Pretty human,” Seonghwa murmurs. “Will you let me mark you?” San nods blindly and sobs when Seonghwa’s fingers curl around his neck and  _ squeeze _ , still thrusting into him. He holds San down by the neck and the pressure feels maddening, the lightheadedness divine. San knows he’s making some embarrassing, undone sound but when Seonghwa bends down and a sharp burst of pain blooms on San’s skin, he screams. 

Seonghwa bites down harder, so hard, San’s neck throbs and yet his cock aches, so painfully hard, the only reprieve he’s getting is the friction from Seonghwa’s abdomen rubbing against it. When Seonghwa pulls away, there’s blood all over his lips, on his teeth when he smiles, and San tugs him down for a desperate kiss, licking up his own blood with zeal, drunk off the way he tastes, the way Seonghwa tastes. 

“There we go, that’s it,” Seonghwa says and San sobs frantically, swivelling his hips up, writhing till the pressure in his belly seizes and he’s spurting, untouched, all over himself. He blinks up at Seonghwa, gasping, watches through a sheen of tears as Seonghwa’s face morphs into something that would be terrifying if San were in his right mind as he stills and empties into San. 

The last thing San sees is Seonghwa smiling down at him as the throbbing of his neck and the beat of his heart lulls him to sleep. 

  
  


* * *

  
  


_ Oh look at him.  _

_ He’s perfect isn’t he? Everything we could have asked for. And he takes it all so well.  _

San’s eyes are so heavy they feel like they’ve been stapled shut. For a moment, he’s aware of nothing but the disembodied, sweet voice, unaware of any sensation in his own body. Then it surges into him like a wave and he breathes heavily, each limb making its presence known, heavy as a weight. 

“He’s waking up!” 

He doesn’t recognise the voice. His heart beats faster and with a final push of effort, he wrenches his eyes open, immediately squinting at the sudden bright light blinding him. It takes him a second to adjust and when the large, white shapes fizzle out in his line of sight, he takes in his surroundings. 

The first thing he sees is a small, elven figure peering down at him, blinking rapidly. He yelps and pushes himself back, sitting up and almost falling off the sofa he’d been laying on. The sofa he has no recollection of sleeping on. 

He gazes around the room, takes in the lavish upholstery, the low-hanging crystal chandelier and the fireplace in the distance and discerns that he must still be dreaming. He’s dreaming of himself  _ inside  _ the mansion. 

Panting, he looks back at the elf-like person sitting in front of him. They look small and unassuming, dressed in a black waistcoat and a cravat tie, clothes velvet and smooth and  _ expensive.  _ Their red hair is slicked back and the longer San looks at them the more he determines that the sharpness to their face, the aquiline shape of their nose, looks almost inhuman. 

“Who are you?” The elf blinks at him and then smiles, large, pointy teeth on display. “I’m Hongjoong. You’re in my home. My dear ones brought you to me.” 

_ Dear ones?  _ It hits San like a lightning bolt. He scrambles, lifting his hand up to touch his neck, but there’s no blood on his fingers. There is however, raised skin in the place Seonghwa had bit him and San shivers. Do people sleep in dreams and still wake up in them? 

San glances at Hongjoong. This is probably Wooyoung’s master, and perhaps the owner Yeosang had mentioned. Hongjoong keeps smiling at him in that same unnerving way Seonghwa had, too wide and too eager. 

“I- are you like them too?” Hongjoong tilts his head. 

“Like who?” 

“Do you- are you not human as well?” Hongjoong hums, pursing his lips. 

“You’re the first human who’s been here in centuries San,” is all he says, his words settling like a stone in the pit of San’s stomach. “Tell me, have you enjoyed your time here?” 

San thinks of the mark of his neck. Of Wooyoung and Jongho and the others and a white hot stab of arousal pierces through him, alongside a dizzying, confusing sensation that makes him feel like he’s still drunk off whatever they’d given him. 

“I did. I do. When will I wake up though?” 

Hongjoong raises an eyebrow and then looks at something behind San. San turns around and almost yelps when he sees the silent man standing there solidly, his hands behind his back. He’s wearing a more complicated looking vest, thicker armor-like leather, and a long cape draped behind his back. He has on an eyepatch, at odds with the roundness of his face. When Hongjoong makes a sound, he stalks forward and stands in front of them. 

“If you would like, Yunho can escort you out right now,” Hongjoong says and San looks at Yunho and his stocky frame dubiously. Yunho looks down at him with a slight, almost-not-there smile on his face. San looks away quickly. 

“But if you’d like to stay for a little while longer,” Hongjoong continues, shifting closer to San. “You can join me for dinner and then leave, hmm?” He’s beautiful up close, his eyes wide and dark, skin flushed pink. There’s a harshness to his lips and his chin and San finds himself wanting to soften it out with his mouth. 

He represses the thought quickly, and nods. He can spend a little more time here. After all, it is  _ his  _ dream and his imagination hasn’t failed him yet. 

Hongjoong smiles and stands, holding a hand out. “Shall we?” 

  
  


* * *

  
  


Hongjoong’s dining room is ornate and far too expensive to be dined in. 

He sits down between Hongjoong and Yunho, and stares at the lavish spread in front of them in awe. There are dishes he recognises like meat pies and steamed fish. And then there are some that look like nothing he’s ever seen, colourful bright vegetables and rare pieces of meat. 

“Oh,” he murmurs, mouth salivating and next to him, Hongjoong giggles. 

“We prepared it especially for you. Would you allow me to feed you, San? I’d very much like to do so.” 

He looks at San so earnestly, lips quirked up, that San can’t help but nod. Hongjoong piles up his plate with food and then slowly, patiently, feeds him bite by bite. 

“Try this,” he murmurs, and shoves a spicy tasting meat into San’s mouth, beaming when San moans in approval, leaning over to feed San something else he really wants him to try. 

The mouth-watering food, Hongjoong’s delight and warm praise, Yunho’s steady presence next to him makes San fall into a monotonous but heady lull, fixated on the repeated motion of chewing and opening his mouth when Hongjoong asks. He’s so into it, he barely notices when they’re done, opening his mouth for Hongjoong, brows furrowing when Hongjoong laughs and tickles his chin. 

“We’re done, sweetheart. Come, let’s move to the living room,” Hongjoong says and guides San out and back into the room with the fireplace. San feels thoroughly and wholly comfortable, his belly warm with food, his mind floating, and he goes easily when Hongjoong sits down on an armchair in front of the fire and pulls San into his lap. 

He’s so sleepy and happy he could doze off right here, held tight by a handsome man, limbs warm and maybe he does, maybe he dozes and drifts and only vaguely registers Hongjoong stroking his back in a soothing up and down motion, his small palms searing against San’s skin. Hongjoong feels so broad under him, steady and firm, and in a sleep-lulled daze, San realises he’s been grinding down into Hongjoong’s crotch for the past few moments. 

He inhales sharply when he finally becomes aware of the molten sensation in his belly, and grinds down a little faster, stuffing his face against Hongjoong’s neck. Hongjoong doesn’t seem to mind, just presses San closer and hums. 

“San, would you do something for me? It’s something very very important to me,” Hongjoong says suddenly and with no hesitation, San nods, rolling his hips down faster, panting. 

“Uh-huh, yes, please,” he murmurs, and Hongjoong laughs. He’s beginning to really like Hongjoong’s laugh. 

“Listen closely, little one. I want you to keep something of mine with you. Will you do that for me? I want you to keep it safe, hmm?” Hongjoong grabs him a little tighter and holds him away to look him in the eye. San holds his gaze, still feeling a little befuddled. But he nods slowly and keeps eye contact with Hongjoong who smiles, pleased, and lets San grind up against him again. 

Suddenly, there are hands pulling his pants down and San sighs, helping them down, settling down on Hongjoong’s lap completely bare from the bottom, skin flaming. Hongjoong’s warm palms settle on his ass and San jolts, pushing back against his hands, liking the way Hongjoong holds him, solid and unyielding. 

“Let’s try something,” Hongjoong murmurs and before San knows it, there are larger hands, bigger and broader, on his ass, lifting him up until his knees are on either side of Hongjoong’s lap and his ass is up in the air. 

San looks behind to find Yunho holding him, so  _ big _ , bigger than Hongjoong even and he moans loudly, shaking a little when Yunho’s fingers rub against his hole. But instead of fingers stretching him out, there is suddenly wet warmth licking into his hole and he shudders, stifling a curse, burying his face into Hongjoong’s shoulder. 

“Oh fuck, o-oh-” he mutters brokenly and Hongjoong shushes him gently. Yunho licks his taint, fucks his tongue in so filthy, San finds himself rolling his hips back to get his tongue to go deeper. He’s never been more desperate to be fucked. 

Yunho pulls away just before San reaches the edge, his pleasure cresting and then waning, and he wails, biting at Hongjoong’s shoulder, pushing his ass back frantically. But Hongjoong only holds him and tugs him down till he’s bundled up in his lap again, shivering and shaking for release. 

“Please, oh,  _ please _ ,” he whispers, with no abandon or embarrassment, and Hongjoong hums, hugging him. When he feels fingers prodding at his hole, he pants in excitement and sighs, loving the sensation of Hongjoong’s fingers stretching him out, fucking up into him, carving a space for himself within San. 

Then Hongjoong pulls away to undo his own belt and open his trousers. San watches greedily, as Hongjoong lowers his underwear and then blinks because- Hongjoong doesn’t exactly have a  _ cock.  _ Instead he has what looks like a thick, large appendage that’s a furious violet, writhing a tiny bit like a  _ tentacle.  _

“Wha-”

“Shh, it’s fine. This won’t hurt you at all, I promise,” Hongjoong murmurs and with one hand, pushes his strange cock into San, groaning under his breath. San moans because Hongjoong’s cock stretches him out so wide he feels like he’s splitting open, reaching so deep inside and  _ moving _ , writhing and rubbing up against his walls in a way that makes him sob and gasp, chasing the pleasure like he’s crazed. 

“That’s it. Knew you could take it,” Hongjoong says and San melts, undulating his hips, making these terrible, high-pitched noises because the pleasure is so blinding, San feels like he could explode. He’s panting like a dog and Hongjoong’s fucking him, Hongjoong’s holding him and thoroughly using him and San thinks he never ever wants to wake up. 

Suddenly, there’s a pressure on his rim and San stiffens. 

“Fuck, Sannie, there we go. You’ll keep them safe for me, won’t you?” San hums, confused, and then yelps when his walls feel impossibly stretched as if something else is above Hongjoong’s cock. Shivering, he jerks violently when the sensation occurs again and again and again, each time filling San up so thoroughly, he feels like he’s experiencing it through a euphoric haze, squealing and sobbing loudly. He presses a hand to his stomach and moans when he feels the strange, misshapen bulges-  _ eggs _ , they’re Hongjoong’s eggs because Hongjoong’s  _ breeding _ him, in his lower abdomen, just sitting there, keeping him stuffed. When Hongjoong’s hands dig into his thighs and his soft, melodic voice whispers “ _ My boy _ ”, San comes so hard his brain melts away for a moment. 

He floats again, barely aware of being set down on something and then carried in someone’s arms. He registers a kiss to his lips and sees Hongjoong’s handsome, eerie face in the distance. He feels the rhythmic movement of someone walking with him in their arms and through a thick foggy blur he catches brief glimpses of an eyepatch, a starry night sky, and a foliage of trees. 

The last thing he sees before he finally succumbs to sleep is a single red rose, placed gently between his palms. 

  
  


* * *

  
  


_ San?  _

_ San?  _

_ San? _

Wake up!

He jolts awake. There’s a ceiling light within his line of sight, attached to wooden beams on a sloping roof. He turns a little, and takes in the room, his room, and all the familiar things in it; his desk, his cupboard, the little armchair. 

“Finally, for Christ’s sake, could you please get your ass up! The train leaves in three hours and you aren’t ready!” San looks to the foot of his bed where his brother stands, enraged, already dressed in his jacket and waistcoat. 

Train. University. London. This is what his life is about. 

He heaves himself up, muttering a hoarse apology and drags himself out of bed. His limbs are unusually sore this morning and maybe that has something to do with the curious,  _ vigorous  _ dream he had, he thinks, flushing. He stifles the urge to scream into his pillow in embarrassment and hops out of bed, walking over to the bathroom when he catches sight of himself in the mirror and his blood runs cold. 

There, on the exposed skin of his collarbone, is a raw, crusting bite mark. He blinks. And then pinches his skin. 

He scrambles out of the bathroom and looks around the room frantically. But nothing is different, nothing is out of the ordinary. Could he still be dreaming? 

Something glints in the corner of his eye and he looks towards his desk where there’s a single red rose and next to it, a bound scroll. He stumbles towards it, his heart racing. The rose feels solid in his hand, the petals bruising under his fingertips. 

With shaking fingers, he tears open the gleaming wax seal on the scroll and rolls it open. 

_ Dear San, _

_ I bid you the best of luck for your journey and your education in the city.  _

_ I also hope that when you feel ready, you will come back to us to visit.  _

_ After all, Underland only chooses once, and only chooses one.  _

_ With love, _

_ Hongjoong  _

**Author's Note:**

> if you liked this please consider leaving a kudos and a comment thank you!!!   
> much love this was a lot of fun to write, I would love to hear your thoughts!


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